Page 4 of The Duke's Only Desire

The older butler gave her a kind smile and lowered himself just far enough to bring his eyes level with hers. They werewrinkled at the corners but kind, and they reminded her of her father’s. “Dozens of them,” he confided. “Right by the first window.” Then he nodded in the direction of the library. “I’ll ask Mrs. Bailey to bring up a tea tray, shall I?” He winked at her. “She makes wonderful cinnamon biscuits.”

“Thank you,” Sophie whispered. Then she breached all propriety by touching his arm in gratitude.

With a nod, he straightened to his full height and turned to walk back to the study, leaving her to find the rest of her way on her own.

She froze in the library doorway and stared, her mouth falling open. The library was the biggest she’d ever seen. It reached two stories tall, and bookshelves covered every inch of the walls, including those by the windows and fireplace. A wrought iron balcony circled the room halfway to the ceiling to give access to the second story of books, reached by a spiral staircase in the far corner and ladders on rollers fitted along each wall on both levels. So many books filled the space that there wasn’t room on the walls to hang any paintings except for one over the fireplace. A landscape of a large country estate and grand stone house, surrounded by hundreds of acres of gardens, a deer park, plantations…even a little village tucked just over the hill in the distance with only the tops of its buildings and church tower visible.

It took her five full minutes of study before she realized that the house was Ravenscroft Manor. Her heart began to pound at the enormity of it, of what was expected from her in only six years—

Laughter.

She startled at the sound, her hand going to her lips to keep down a cry of surprise. She held her breath. Men’s voices cut through the silent house from a room connecting to the library.Careful not to be seen, she crossed to the door which had been left partially open and peered inside.

Two young men of university age sat sprawled in leather chairs in front of a blazing fire in a private den, with glasses of golden liquid in hand and cigars trailing smoke into the air. Similar sandy blond hair was visible over the low chair backs, the same breadth of shoulders—brothers.

One of them set down his glass and pushed himself out of the chair, to reach for the poker to stir up the coals. He was slightly more slender than his stockier brother, his hair a bit longer with thicker curls. He possessed high cheekbones and an easy grin that blossomed soft lines around his mouth, as if he often smiled. With a laugh at something his brother said, he turned around quickly to reply—

His eyes darted to the doorway. Sophie ducked out of sight and pressed herself against the wall.

Low words to his brother that she couldn’t make out… followed by, “Who’s there?”

She squeezed shut her eyes, hoping he would forget about her. Or that she could turn herself invisible.No such luck.

“Show yourself,” he ordered. There was no laughter in his voice now.

Terrified he’d come after her with the poker if she remained hidden, she slowly opened the door.

His face lit with surprise, then mellowed back into a grin. He gestured at her with the poker to guide his brother’s attention to the back of the room.

“What do I care which footman’s eavesdropping?” the brother grumbled.

He craned around in the chair just far enough to see her. His gaze raked over her, followed on its heels by an expression of bored disdain as he turned back to the fire and kicked both feet onto the fender.

“Or what chit’s been dragged here by her mother,” he sneered, “and doesn’t know enough to stay in the salon where guests belong.”

She flinched, hard enough that the other brother saw. His eyes softened with compassion.

“I came to the library to select a book to read while Grandmama speaks with His Grace.” She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Of course not.” The man was polite enough not to call that out for the blatant lie it was. He set the poker down and approached her, stopping in front of her to incline his head in a shallow bow. “Seamus Douglass.”

She bobbed a small curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Yet he didn’t reach to take her hand. With an apologetic smile, he held up his hand to indicate the ash still clinging to his fingers and his unwillingness to dirty her hands. He jerked his head toward the other man. “And that’s my brother, John.”

“Lord Colsworth to you,” he corrected, not bothering to look at them or even to rise from his chair in the presence of a lady. True, she wasn’t much of a lady yet, even if marriage was…marriage was…Oh, no.

Dread tightened her chest, and she whispered, “The marquess?”

“The very one.” He toasted himself by lifting his glass high in the air, then finishing it off in a single, gasping swallow.

“And you are?” The other brother prompted.

“Miss Winter.” She twisted her suddenly shaking hands in her velvet skirt. “Sophie. My uncle is the Earl of—”

“Whodid you say you are?” Colsworth jumped out of the chair, threw his cigar into the fire, and charged across the room to her.

Seamus stepped between them, taking his brother by the shoulders to hold him back.